My family is from Moka, a village in small Kabylia perched high on the blue mountains of Djurdjura. My father and mother developed bonds of affection since they were young. (See Nomade page 28).

My mother (1918-1991) and my father (1911-1992) raised us in a cocoon of love which remains to me an example of the marital agreement.
In the photo we see my mother with Abderahmane standing (1932-1993) Carrying on her arm my brother Mokhtar (1937-2016).
My parents had 7 children including 5 boys and 2 girls.
My sister was born in 1939. She was married very young (Cf. Nomade P.33).

When I came into the world among his boys and after the departure of my sister, my father was one of the happiest men on earth. He called me “Yamanda” which in Kabyle means my little diamond.
I have always been spoiled by my father under the stern gaze of Yemma (mother), my mother. My mother raised me in the most absolute rigour possible, but that’s what made me what I am today.


On page 40 of Nomade published in 2017 I wrote:

“When I was very young, revolt was the engine of my existence. My mother fed it. This woman who gave birth to me chained me through the maze of our common memory. It is by following this endless tunnel that I seek it by writing. I feel it, I smell it…


Yemma (mother), today you are gone

I come to knock on your

virtual or real door that separates us…

This door that is neither wood nor iron

No lock…


I’d like to open it just to thank you for leaving me your sense of fairness and your vast humanism. When I was little I was taught that in the beginning was the verb but for me in the religion of my time, there is no beginning without love, there is no life without Dadda, my father and Yemma , because they are love.

This is the homage I offer to you, like a prayer and Almighty God is my witness to it.”